How I feel right now.

I hope you understand that I watch your actions more than I'll ever listen to your words.

Stranding me, twice in a week because you can doesn't make me feel very loved, so yes, I will say yeah when you say you love me.  Because clearly it's a yeah sort of situation.

Masks

I hear a single choked sob.  Everything inside me freezes but I get up.  I know the sound.  I move slowly from my room, fear holding me tight and unraveling me all at once.  I am usually only this afraid in dreams.  I know this is not a dream.  It’s too clear.  I wander to the living room; the walk is 15 feet.  It takes me what feels like an entire day.  I turn the corner from the hall and I see her.  She is sitting in a chair across the room, the one by the window but it is dark.  The blinds are all closed.  They’re always closed.  She sits normally but her face is contorted in a mask.  

It’s an awful mask.  Involuntarily I start to cry. 

“Mom.”

I don’t understand why I’m crying.  I’m not hurt.  I wonder if all children cry when their mothers cry.  I think they must because it’s like the world touches you where you didn’t think it could.  It was as if being tucked and secured inside this house, the one with no windows open and all the blinds shut, couldn’t protect me from rain falling and trickling through the tiles and wood, and dripping mercilessly on my shoulder.  Houses are supposed to protect you from storms.

I move a little towards her.  I don’t know why she’s crying.  I don’t understand.  The mask deepens and she’s sobbing again, great deep sobs that rack her shoulders.  It’s so loud.  I move closer.  I’m standing in front of her but she doesn’t see me.  Her mouth is open.  Nothing comes out.  It’s a wrenching silence.  I hug her from the side awkwardly because I’m so small and she’s sitting in the chair.  She doesn’t touch me.  I love her but I know that it’s not enough.  That knowing makes me too scared to move.